


Chrysalis

by wraithkeeper



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Threesome - F/M/M, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithkeeper/pseuds/wraithkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal was a survivor. He had suffered through being sick before; he just wasn’t used to having someone there to care for him until he was better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usakeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/gifts).



> written for usakeh, who provided the idea for Neal's childhood.
> 
> Contains non-graphic child abuse.

Whenever Neal was sick, he dreamed about when he was very young and his mother tucked him in under the covers with a kiss to the forehead and a whisper that told him to feel better in the morning. In the dream, she also whispered that she loved him. He didn’t think this memory was real.

When Neal was seven years old, he woke up sick and he stayed curled up beneath the covers. He pulled the blanket over his head and hovered between sleep and body-aching wakefulness for two hours before his mother was wake enough to realize he hadn’t left for school. She sat on the edge of his bed and asked him what was wrong.

“I’m sick.” He told her.

“Oh, baby.” She said, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a slight look of disbelief on her face.

“I am, Mom.” He insisted, biting his tongue before he told her that he didn’t lie.

She sighed in frustration when his temperature apparently did qualify him as being sick.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t take off work. You’ll have to stay here alone.”

“It’s fine.” Neal mumbled as he pulled the covers over his head again.

“I’ll come home straight from work, okay?” She promised, sweeping her hand softly through his hair.

She brought him a glass of juice before she left, but it was orange juice and he set it on his nightstand after the first acidic sip burned past his sore throat. He spent the rest of the day stationed either in bed or on the couch, switching between the two every time his body ached from being still too long. He dragged with him a bundle of every blanket they owned, wrapped up like a Halloween mummy until he could barely trudge down the hall without tripping.

Neal was curled up on the couch when his mom came home. He didn’t bother looking up at the clock to see how many hours ago her shift had ended. She stopped in surprise when she saw him huddled beneath the mound of blankets.

“What are you doing up?” She demanded.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He mumbled. “My head hurts.”

“You’re not getting out of school again, if that’s your plan.” She scolded him, walking over and grabbing him roughly by the arm.

“It’s not a plan.” He insisted. “I’m sick.”

“I can’t stay home and take care of you every time you feel like being lazy.”

“You didn’t stay home at all today.” He accused, pulling his arm out of her grasp.

“I had to work.”

Neal trudged past her and couldn’t help but mumble, “Did you have to get drunk after, too?”

The slap was instant, stinging his cheek, and he knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Don’t you tell lies like that, Neal!” She yelled. “I did not raise you that way.”

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t a lie. He wanted to remind her that she’d promised to come home right after work. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the floor as he whispered, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Go to bed.” She ordered him. “And you’d damn well better be up for school in the morning.”

Neal obeyed silently, knowing that if he spoke up again it would only be worse. He lie in bed listening to the sounds of his mother outside his closed bedroom door. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that she was tired enough to go to bed instead of dwelling on his infraction. It wasn’t until he heard her bedroom door close that he relaxed his grip on the fistful of blankets he was clutching.

Neal hated that he was afraid. He hated that he hadn’t stood up to her when she called him a liar. Most of all, Neal hated that what he wanted most right now was for her to come sit on his bed, whisper that she loved him, and stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

He knew it wouldn’t happen, yet still he waited. He was still waiting when he finally fell asleep.

*****

Twenty miles past Pine Bluff, Arkansas, it started raining. Neal had seen the clouds when his last ride had dropped him off outside the Pine Bluff public library (where, Neal had told the driver, he was supposed to meet his father) but had continued anyway. It had only been early afternoon, and the sixteen year old hadn’t wanted to stop yet. It had been careless, really, he should have known he might not find another ride before the storm hit.

He regretted it now, with the rain pouring down so heavily that his wet shirt was plastered to his skin before he reached the next mile marker. He swore to himself that he would be more careful next time, although he reasoned that “careless” was relative when he was hitchhiking his way to New York.

Another mile marker and the rain wasn’t letting up. His feet sloshed in his sneakers and he wished, not for the first time, that they didn’t have holes in them. He was good at conning his way into a ride, or even thumbing one from a trucker if he was too tired to come up with an excuse, but he had still ended up walking for a good portion of his travels. His duffle bag got heavier every day, and many times he had thought of ditching it but couldn’t bring himself to abandon his last few possessions.

With the thick sheets of rain and the cloud darkened sky, Neal almost ran into the car before he saw it. He stopped three feet from the still bumper, his shoes drowning in a puddle. He looked around, instinctively nervous at this unexpected scenario. He slowly walked around to the driver’s door and peered in the window of the parked car. He expected someone to be sitting inside – after all, who would park their car in the middle of nowhere and leave – but the inside was empty. Neal barely hesitated long enough to wonder why the car was here before he was rifling through his bag and pulling out his lock pick set. He opened it and quickly selected the correct tools. He knew a car lock would be trickier than that on a regular door, but he had spent enough nights wandering through the police impound lot unlocking all the car doors. It had greatly amused him at the time that he could hone his skills right under the cops’ noses without getting caught. He probably should have felt guilty for it, but nobody was getting hurt and it wasn’t like the police had ever done anything to help him.

As he’d expected, he made quick work of the lock and climbed into the driver’s seat. He gratefully slammed the door behind himself and sat reveling in the dry interior for a moment. The rain pounded a steady rhythm on the roof of the car and Neal let his eyes drift shut as he listened to it. He quickly snapped them open when he realized that he was close to falling asleep, sitting in the car that he had broken into. He laughed to himself; he really was getting careless. While it was tempting enough to simply enjoy the shelter from the rain, Neal knew he still had a long way to go. And now he had a way to do it.

He quickly set to work hotwiring the car, but was disappointed when it didn’t start. Of course, he told himself, why else would it be left out here. He leaned back in the seat and tried to get comfortable, but after a few minutes he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. He fidgeted with the thought that he was so close to not having to walk the rest of the way to the nearest town. Sighing, he opened the door and walked around to the front of the car. He opened the hood and peered in; It didn’t take him long to find the problem. The frayed wire was easily repaired and he returned to the dry interior of the car, where it started immediately. He smiled at the smooth purr of the engine running over the sound of the rain. This was going to improve his day.

Four towns, one state line, and the remainder of the gas tank later, he pulled up in front of a sheriff’s department and parked under the “No Parking” sign. On the dashboard he placed a note that read “Dear Officer, please return me to my owner.” In the glove box he slipped a note that read “I fixed your car. Sorry I couldn’t pay for gas.” He locked the doors before he left it, so the car wouldn’t be stolen.

The rain was lighter here, but it was still coming down enough that his clothes were soaked again by the time he reached a cheap motel that had a vacancy sign and only two cars in the parking lot. Neal walked through the front door and had to suppress a smile when he saw that the clerk was an older woman. He would have a room in no time. He hunched his shoulders, shuffled his feet like he was exhausted, and put on his best distraught face before approaching the counter. She looked up when she heard him and he saw the immediate compassion on her face.

“Ma’am, I – I need some help.” He stammered. “I’m really sorry, but my car just broke down out of town and I had to walk the whole way in. I called my Dad and he’ll come to get me, but he’s driving from La Follette so he’s not going to get here until morning. It’s pouring rain out and I don’t have any money…”

Neal rambled through his story like he was embarrassed and desperate. He watched as the woman nodded along sympathetically as she clearly envisioned one of her own children stranded in such a situation. When he knew he had her, Neal allowed his voice to break and he stopped with a thick swallow, staring down at his threadbare sneakers.

“Oh, honey, don’t you worry about that.” She assured him. “We’ve got enough open rooms, and I can just get you right set up in one without anyone noticing a thing.”

“Really?” He asked hopefully, like a child who had just been offered candy.

The woman smiled and walked around from behind the desk. She placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “Really. It won’t be any trouble.”

Neal raised his eyes to meet hers and faked a shaky smile. “Thank you, Ma’am. I really appreciate this.”

“Well I can’t just leave you out in the rain, sweetheart. You stay the night here until your Dad comes for you. If you need anything tonight you just let me know, okay? I’m here ‘til late but then I’m off the next two days, so just leave whenever your dad gets here and I’ll take care of the room when I get back.”

Neal thanked her several times as she steered him to a vacant room and bid him goodnight. He stripped off his wet clothes and hung them in the shower to dry before collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. He fell asleep almost immediately. The exhaustion of four days with barely any sleep was almost enough to make him long for his old bed at home. Then he thought of New York City and his chance at freedom, and he knew he would never go back. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, but woke up four hours later coughing and shivering. Apparently his carelessness had caught up to him.

He lie awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to work out a plan. He sighed at the reality that this wasn’t something he could avoid or talk his way out of; his body was telling him he needed to rest. He had a two day window in which no one knew he was here, and he knew he would recover more quickly resting in bed than hitchhiking in the rain. He’d just have to wait this out before he could get on the move again.

He pulled the covers over himself, moaning at his stiff muscles that hurt worse than after a bad fight with his mom. Pain was nothing new to him, but he had thought it was over now. After all, it had been years since she’d dared to lay a hand on him. Instead, when Neal had grown big enough to block her blows, she had traded the sting of a slap for the sting of harsh words. Unable to use fists, she hurled her insults at him instead, yelling at him that he was just like the worthless father he had never even met. He was a little liar. He thought he was so perfect. He was always causing problems for her just to be cruel. These were all, apparently, traits he had inherited from his father. Neal never dared to say that, if anything, these all seemed to be traits from her side of his gene pool. He knew it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

Neal finally cleared his mind enough to fall asleep, only to be haunted by the mocking dream of a perfect mother and her promises of love. He awoke in a sweat, and wondered how that dream could ever have been real.

He spent the next two days curled up in bed, shaking even under the comforter and coughing into the pillow to muffle the noise. He was grateful that no one knew he was staying here, as it would give him time to recover. When he could finally stand up without feeling light headed, he stumbled to the bathroom and retrieved his stiffly dried clothes from the shower bar. He got dressed, pulled a crushed bag of potato chips from his bag and forced himself to eat them before he left. His stomach objected but he knew he would need the energy if he was to return to the road. He couldn’t risk staying in one place too long.

*****

“Neal?” Kate called out as she entered the apartment.

“In here.” Neal said without moving.

“Still?” Kate walked into the bathroom and knelt beside him, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Neal leaned into her touch without pulling away from the blissfully cool porcelain.

“Do you think you can get back to the bed?” She asked.

Neal moaned at the thought of having to move, but his legs were beginning to fall asleep where they were tucked underneath him on the bathroom rug. He hadn’t even bothered to lean back from the toilet, instead just resting his head against it until the next wave of nausea passed.

“Come on.” Kate said, rising to her feet. “Let’s get you up.”

Neal let her pull him up until he was on his feet, even if he was leaning most his weight against the counter. He turned on the faucet and rinsed his mouth out before running his wet hand over his face and through his hair. His legs were shaking and he knew he’d have to move soon if he was going to make it to the bed before they gave out. He slung an arm over Kate’s shoulders and she wrapped an arm around him in turn. Together they stumbled to the bed where he collapsed on top of the covers. She sat down beside him but he could tell she was uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Burke’s getting close.” She told him. “I’d feel better if we could leave the city.”

“Sorry. Just give me a few days, okay?”

She sighed and reached out to press her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Neal flashed a weak smile. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be helping me get your sick ass out of trouble?”

“I already did. I called Mozzie and he’s getting the word out that I’m in Philadelphia trying to move the painting.”

“Do you think that will be enough? I thought you said Burke’s smart.”

“Oh, he is, but I don’t need to convince him. I just need to distract him. He flies out there, sees it’s a false alarm, but by the time he’s back here we’ll be gone.”

Neal grabbed an envelope from the nightstand and handed it to her. “This should help, too.”

“What is it?” She asked, seeing only the name Peter written on it.

“The origami.”

It was a trap he had been laying for a while now. He’d left a piece of origami behind every time they left a city, making sure that it was somewhere Peter would find it. Peter was smart, and Neal was betting that he had come to recognize the origami as Neal’s farewell gesture. Neal had kept this as his safety net, in case he ended up in a situation such as this. Once Peter received the origami, Neal hoped it would be the final push to convince him that they had skipped town already.

She took the envelope from him. “Where do you want it?”

“There’s a store across the street from the gallery; give it to the owner. He was late leaving the night I took the painting. He didn’t see me, but he’ll be Peter’s next stop.”

“I think you know Burke better than he knows himself by now.” Kate joked.

“Well, he knows everything about me. It would be rude not to return the favor.”

Kate shook her head disbelievingly, and Neal wondered if she knew how much Peter intrigued him. He forced the thought from his mind as she leaned down to kiss him lightly on the forehead. He tried to capture her lips with his, but she pulled back. “Ugh. Breath.”

Neal dropped his head back to the pillow and put on his best pouting face. Kate just laughed and stood up. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Love you.” Neal mumbled as she left, but was asleep before he could hear if she replied.

When he woke up, Neal was shivering. He grabbed blindly for the blanket and pulled it over his body, but it didn’t stop his shaking.

“Kate?” He called out, but heard nothing in reply.

He was freezing. He felt cold all the way to his bones, even though he could feel sweat still clinging to his skin from the fever. He finally threw the blanket off with an exasperated sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room swayed and tilted around him when he stood up, and he had to close his eyes for a moment until things stopped spinning.

He stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes as the water heated up. When steam began to billow from the shower, he stepped inside and sighed as the hot water poured over him. Slowly the warmth began to seep through his skin and wash away the painful cold. He swayed unsteadily until he finally settled for leaning his back against the tile wall. His shoulders slowly inched lower until he had slid into a sitting position, slumped in the corner of the shower with the hot water pounding down from above. His eyes drifted shut as he relished in the blessed warmth.

“Neal.” Someone was shaking him and repeating his name. “Neal!”

He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the shape in front of him. Slowly his vision sharpened until he could discern that it was Kate crouching before him.

“Hey.” He mumbled.

“Neal.” She said, her voice tight and hovering between worry and anger.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

She relaxed slightly when she saw that he was alert, but her voice was still tense when she spoke. “What’s wrong? You’re being an idiot, that’s what.”

Neal frowned. When she offered no further explanation, he looked around to ascertain where he was. He realized that he was sitting naked on the floor of the shower stall. The water had been turned off, but the tiles were still wet and cold against his skin. Cold. That was right, he had been cold.

“I was cold.” Neal tried to explain, then mumbled, “Still am.”

With a sigh, Kate grabbed a towel and began to dry him off, ignoring his complaint. “You couldn’t think up any better way to get warm?”

Neal tried to remember. He was fairly certain that it had seemed like a brilliant plan at the time. Cold body, hot shower… foolproof.

When Kate finished drying him off, she hauled him to his feet for the second time that day and half steered, half dragged him to the bed.

Neal reached for the blanket but Kate pulled it away with a stern “No.”

“But ‘m cold.” He whined.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have passed out in the shower then.” She said, her voice definitely leaning more towards angry than worried, now. “You’ve got a fever; you need to get your temperature down.”

“Body heat, at least?” Neal begged.

“No.” Kate chided. “Go to sleep.”

Neal groaned in frustration and rolled over to sprawl on his back, arms and legs askew. He stared at the ceiling and waited for Kate to change her mind. He was still waiting when he fell asleep.

*****

Two blocks away from the FBI building, Neal was beginning to think that Indian food hadn’t been a wise choice for lunch. At least it had been Peter’s choice, a fact that Neal was going to be sure to remind him of if Neal’s portion made a return journey up and onto the interior of the car. The light turned green and Peter accelerated, taking the turn a little too sharply and sending Neal’s stomach lurching into his throat. He swallowed roughly as he attempted to quell his nausea.

Peter finally reached their parking spot and pulled the car to a (far too sudden) stop. He got out and was about to shut the car door when he realized that Neal hadn’t moved yet. He leaned back in the car and looked at Neal worriedly. Neal was clenching the edges of his seat with white knuckles and staring vacantly ahead as he tried to slow his rapid breathing.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.” Neal assured him, looking up at Peter and smiling even as he felt beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Sure you are. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Neal insisted. He opened the car door and stood up to prove his point.

“See, nothing wrong.” He hoped Peter didn’t notice the way his legs were shaking.

Peter eyed him warily, and when he spoke it was with a warning tone to his voice. “Neal, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” Neal lied. “And you sound like Elizabeth when you say my name like that.”

“Elizabeth who’s going to kick my butt – and yours – if I let anything happen to you.”

“I told you, I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.” Neal walked around the car and started across the parking garage to the elevators. He made it past three cars before his knees buckled. He expected to crumple to the hard cement, but instead felt Peter’s arms wrapped around him, supporting him.

“You’re fine, huh?” Peter rested his chin on Neal’s shoulder, not complaining about the burden of the younger man sagged against him.

“Okay, maybe not fine.” Neal admitted, as he tried again to support his own weight. Peter kept his arms wrapped loosely but protectively around Neal’s torso as he regained his footing. Neal made it one step forward before the movement sent his head spinning and his stomach lurching.

“Peter!” Neal gasped as he lurched forward.

Peter lowered Neal gently to his knees and rubbed his back, wincing at the sound of the young man’s retching.

“I’ve got you, Neal. I’ve got you.” Peter kept up a litany of soothing whispers until Neal’s last heaves finally ceased. Neal spat vehemently in an attempt to rid himself of the vile taste in his mouth. He then sat back, pressed against his lover’s solid chest. Peter wrapped one arm around Neal’s chest and with his other hand he ran his fingers through Neal’s sweaty hair, brushing it back from where it hung limply over his face.

“I think –” Neal coughed weakly. “I think maybe I do need to go home.”

Neal closed his eyes as he waited for a joke at his expense, but Peter just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Peter helped him to the car and buckled him in, then drove home more cautiously than Neal had ever seen him drive. There wasn’t a single lurching acceleration or gravity-defying turn to upset Neal’s unsettled stomach. When they arrived home, they walked up the sidewalk together, Neal’s arm slung over Peter’s shoulders. Satchmo greeted them the second they entered the house, his cold nose pressed into the palm of Neal’s sweaty hand. Neal jerked away and Peter firmly told the dog to get back.

“He’s fine.” Neal mumbled. “You’re a good boy, Satch.”

Satchmo wiggled with excitement as he gave Neal’s hand a sloppy lick.

“You’re too soft with him.” Peter scolded, although Neal knew he didn’t mean a word of it.

Peter gently steered Neal upstairs and towards their bedroom, but Neal pulled back weakly.

“I want to brush my teeth.” Neal insisted. “My breath’s disgusting.”

“Nobody cares about your breath right now.” Peter laughed softly, but didn’t hesitate to support Neal over the sink as he tried to wash away the taste of vomit. Neal finally gave up on vanity and weakly mumbled that he was ready to go to bed. Peter laid him on the bed, and Neal was asleep before Peter could finish removing his suit.

Neal woke up with a pounding in his head and a chill rushing over his skin. He pulled the covers tighter around his body, but he still felt cold. Peter wasn’t in the room any more, but Neal could hear the faint sound of the faucet running in the bathroom. He considered waiting for Peter to return and fetch him another blanket, but his teeth were beginning to chatter. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and climbed unsteadily to his feet. He looked down and saw that he was wearing the mismatched outfit of his own silk pajama bottoms and a threadbare old t-shirt of Peter’s. He smiled fondly at Peter’s attempt at dressing him. Satchmo thumped his tail and looked up from the floor as Neal shuffled past him.

Neal’s head was beginning to spin by the time he reached the closet. He swung the door open and leaned heavily against its frame as he peered in to look for a blanket. He spotted a thick, soft-looking quilt on the top shelf and reached up, grabbing its hem and giving it a tug. The blanket slid forward more easily than he had expected, taking with it a small shoebox that tumbled to the floor. The lid popped off the box and its contents spilled out at Neal’s feet. Neal stared down numbly, his mind finally catching up to the sight of the origami figures strewn across the floor. The blanket forgotten in his hands, Neal sank to the floor and picked up a blue paper frog that he remembered folding nearly seven years ago. He remembered how one of the legs had turned out crooked and he had folded an entirely new piece rather than leave an imperfect one.

“I like that one.” Peter’s voice surprised him.

Neal looked up to see the other man standing over him. “Sorry. The box fell. I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s fine.” Peter assured him. He sat down next to Neal and picked up another piece of origami. “I could never bring myself to throw them away.”

Neal leaned into Peter and hid a smile against his shoulder. For all Peter’s gruff exterior, at heart he was just as romantic as Neal was.

“You think that’s funny?”

“No.” Neal answered. “I think it’s sweet.”

Peter carefully picked up a scarlet butterfly and stroked a finger fondly down its back. Its paper wings were curled in slightly with age, giving it the appearance of having just emerged from its cocoon, a chrysalis finally ready to shine.

Neal smiled at the paper creature cradled safely in Peter’s palm. “That’s the first one I made for you.”

“I remember. You don’t know how much it pissed me off.”

To Neal’s credit he didn’t laugh, although it was mainly because he didn’t have the energy for it.

“They’ve grown on me since.” Peter said. “As long I don’t ever find another one.”

“Why?” Neal asked, confused.

Peter pressed a kiss to Neal’s forehead and whispered. “Because they mean goodbye.”

Neal was silent for a moment before he looked up at Peter.

“They mean something else, too.” He admitted.

Peter frowned as his gaze flitted from Neal’s eyes down to the scattered origami pieces and back up again. Instead of words, Neal answered with a kiss. His lips pressed to Peter’s, Neal tried to convey everything he found hard to say, but that he thought he’d been trying to tell Peter since the first time he left a folded paper butterfly for him. It had been the first day he’d decided that maybe one of the FBI agents that had taken on his case was actually worth his attention in return.

When they broke the kiss, Peter smiled. “Maybe they aren’t so bad after all.”

Neal smiled back and curled up against Peter, allowing his mind to go blank as he stared at the origami collection before them. That was how Elizabeth found them when she came home. Peter sitting on the floor with Neal curled up beside him, asleep. Peter could see her immediate worry when she walked into the room, and he pressed a finger to his lips before she could speak, then silently mouthed the word flu. Elizabeth crouched beside Neal and brushed his hair back gently. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and frowned at the heat of his fever.

“He should be in bed.” She whispered to Peter.

Neal stirred at the sound of her voice, looking up from where he had his face nestled into the fabric Peter’s shirt.

“Hey.” Neal smiled up at Elizabeth sleepily.

“Hey, yourself.” She replied quietly. “You’re not looking so good.”

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, much less convincingly than he’d managed before.

“Sure you are. Let’s get you to bed anyway, okay?”

Neal curled back into Peter’s side in objection, but Peter snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him to his feet. Neal snatched the blanket and dragged it with him as they shuffled to the bed. Peter carefully lowered Neal onto the bed before he and Elizabeth sat beside him. Neal pulled his blanket up to his chin and tried to reach for the other covers, but Elizabeth stopped him.

“You have a fever, honey. You need to keep your temperature down.”

“Please?” Neal whined.

Elizabeth tried to keep a straight face against his ridiculous pout. “You can keep this one, that’s it.”

Neal clutched at the blanket and smiled up at her victoriously. She kissed him lightly on the forehead, then sat up and smiled back at him.

Neal looked up at Elizabeth’s beautiful lips that seemed to be almost glowing, and he was struck with the inexplicable urge to kiss her. Even past the glow of her lips, he luckily managed to focus long enough to know that his breath was probably a cocktail of mint toothpaste and vomit that no one could possibly want to kiss. He turned his head and buried his face in the pillow before he could kiss her anyway. Neal heard Peter chuckle at his actions but refused to acknowledge it.

Elizabeth smoothed the blanket over his shoulders before standing up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Neal was about to object to her leaving, but Peter moved closer to him and began stroking his hair, assuring Neal that he wasn’t going to be alone. Neal sidled up to him and laid his head on Peter’s strong chest. He nodded to Elizabeth and watched her slip out of the room quietly. Neal inhaled Peter’s scent and burrowed closer. Peter tugged the blanket up until the hem met the waves of hair curling over the nape of Neal’s neck. Neal tugged the blanket close beneath his chin as Peter smoothed out the wrinkles where the blanket lay stretched across his shoulders. His warm hand was heavier than Elizabeth’s had been, but was still surprisingly gently and Neal found himself drifting off to the rhythm of Peter’s soothing strokes.

He roused slightly when he heard Elizabeth’s quite voice flitting along the edge of his consciousness.

“Is he still awake?”

“Barely.” Peter answered, his hands never faltering in their soothing patterns.

“’m up.” Neal mumbled, hoping his words were at least somewhat decipherable.

When he heard Elizabeth’s soft laugh, he knew she had understood. He felt the bed dip as she sat beside them and he cracked one eye open. She held a steaming mug cupped between her hands, the wispy tendrils of steam rising up to waver before her beautiful face.

“I made you tea.” She offered, holding out the mug.

Neal managed to scoot upright until his head rested on Peter’s shoulder, although he remained plastered to the other man as he reached forward to take the mug from Elizabeth. His cold fingers curled over hers as they wrapped around the mug, and Neal gasped at the heat of both the ceramic and her skin as his fingers brushed them.

Neal held the mug to his lips and breathed deeply, inhaling the delicate scent of the tea. He sipped cautiously at the hot beverage and smiled when the honey in it soothed his raw throat as he swallowed. He drank half the mug, taking slow sips and leaning more heavily against Peter with each passing minute, until the mug felt heavy in his hands and his eyes remained closed more than open. Elizabeth gently slipped the mug from his hands and set it on the nightstand. She leaned over him and brushed a kiss across his forehead. He tilted his head up and captured her lips in a slow, soft kiss. When they pulled apart, Elizabeth smiled down in amusement.

“Mmm… honey.” She laughed as she savored the residual flavor of tea, honey, and Neal.

“That’s better than the kiss I got.” Peter grumbled affectionately.

Neal blushed and turned his face into Peter’s shoulder.

“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly.

Peter chuckled. “It’s fine, Neal.”

He slipped his fingers under Neal’s chin and raised his head up until he could steal a kiss from him.

“There.” Peter whispered. “That one made up for it. Now go to sleep.”

Neal nodded and dropped his head back to Peter’s shoulder, curling against him and barely staying awake long enough to feel Elizabeth slipping into bed behind him.

Asleep between Peter and Elizabeth, Neal didn’t dream of a June Cleaver mother that tucked him into bed with kisses and promises of love. Instead he slept like he never did when he was sick, an uninterrupted, deep sleep. Cradled in Peter and Elizabeth’s arms, he was safe from the memories and the nightmares that he sometimes couldn’t even tell apart. And there he slept until morning, when a very real Elizabeth kissed him awake with promises of love. This, he knew, was real.


End file.
